


Bookie's post-hug fic

by thebookhunter



Series: Post-Ragnarok impulsive outbursts [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Electricity, Loki's thirst, M/M, NOW FUCK, Now kiss, Thor God of Thunder and LIGHTNING, Thor's new powers, YOU CAN'T HOLD BACK THE THIRST, and his brother's very own Sex God, d'uh, feeeeeels, i like Thor King, i love Loki the Royal Advisor (coughconsortcough), now hug, now reverently undo each other bare your souls and destroy all there is to rebuild again, ragnarok spoilers, they didn't need a whole week of cuddling after all, thorki love of my life, well guess what
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 08:56:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12627474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebookhunter/pseuds/thebookhunter
Summary: Thor has no intention to stop hugging. Fine by Loki. Like, really, *really* fine.





	Bookie's post-hug fic

**Author's Note:**

> I WOKE UP THIS MORNING AND THIS HAPPENED
> 
> unbeta'd, barely edited, throwing this into the whirlwind of the fandom's clamoring need for fic just because I am fandom too and your need is my need.

He always did struggle with words, his brother. Except when drunk or in a fit of temper, Thor has always found it easier to joke, or to be quiet. But when his body talked, he never held anything back. There is freedom for both in shutting their mouths at last, drop their weapons, and just let their deeply set need claim its due. Far too long it’s been starving. 

 Thor clings tight, suffocating, enclosing Loki in an iron hold he couldn’t break if he tried. Thor’s embrace is unquenchable, like a bottomless pit. Loki feels the vertigo he always felt, teetering on the edge of an abyss that calls to him with a sweetness once intoxicating, but which he’s of late come to regard as songs of lies and deceit, a song of false promises, cast only to have him depose his weapons, forgo his rightful anger, forget all the wrongs, and betray his cause, the cause of Loki, his betrayal, his hurt. But Thor's arms push all of that away like worthless trinkets. It all shatters at their feet, and it's forgotten. In fairness, it's not just this hug, is it? It's been a sum of small things. And he's watched himself die in his brother's arms enough, he's repeated that moment for his own eyes enough. Such a good play that was. Of course he demanded to see it again and again, it was a balm on his many, many wounds. Not that anyone would believe him at this point, but he never meant to hate Thor. It doesn't come naturally. He's had to nourish it and water it and tend to it constantly for the feeling to thrive. His natural state is to worship and adore his brother. And resent him, true, and bitterly plot his downfall, but that's not hatred, it's not.

His brother's arms broker no argument. At this moment, Loki has no choice but to submit, and oh, the peace there is to be found in that. Still, Loki chafes in peace, he chafes in softness. He always did, ever since he was a child comparing himself to his golden brother, feeling second in all, unworthy, undeserving. That overpouring of affection from one so magnificent, the best of them all. Of course Loki would chafe, and he still does. 

And he’s out of practice, is he not? He was ready to give a little, not all.

“Well,” says Loki at length, wriggling to signal his growing discomfort to his brother, “I remember why we don’t do this more often, you still have no sense of when enough is enough.”

Thor should have laughed, joked, let go. He should have averted his face —that Loki wouldn't see his tears, though they have wetted both their faces, that the moment should pass lightly. 

Thor chuckles, a gruff, deep sound Loki knows well. But he doesn’t let go. He does pull apart, but only to cradle Loki’s face firmly between his hands. He doesn’t avert his gaze, he doesn’t hide his tears, and the broken smile on his face is more than Loki can handle. Thor brings their foreheads to touch, their breaths mingling.

“Loki,” he mutters, reverent. “Loki…” 

Oh, Norns. That's just below the belt. In more ways than figuratively. Loki’s eyes shut heavily of their own volition. 

There is such relief, such sheer joy and warmth in that word, his brother’s voice pronouncing his name, spoken in whispers, in elation, rather than bellowed in wrath and hurt. When Thor speaks his name like that, something within Loki crumbles. And through that growing crack, something of Thor pushes to get in, as something of Loki just aches to burst out. And oh, when they meet.

It’s Thor who kisses him first, Loki would have never dared. A whisper of a touch, with his eyes shut tight as if he was in pain, his kiss chaste and clumsy like when they were children.

“Loki…”

It’s like a punch in his stomach and Loki huffs, suddenly choking in the need pouring out of his brother. Loki’s own hunger, so long denied, rises like a tongue of fire. His hands rake over Thor’s hair, what’s left of it. The shudder that thrums through his brother at the touch shakes them both. And then Thor’s mouth is upon his again. He’s not sweet or gentle about it, they’ve been past that for centuries. It demands and it claims and it knows itself master here, for Loki was always its thrall, bound together by a sortilege of the fates —there is no you without me, there is no me without you. 

Thor’s rushed, heavy breathing announces the turn in the rising energy building between them, changing to something both new and remembered. It thrums through Loki too. When Thor breaks their hold, it’s to claw at Loki’s clothes. They rip like paper in the mighty hands of the god of Thunder. Loki cannot meet him in strength, so he calls on his seidr. Shabby jobs both, shreds of leather, unfinished work. Enough, just enough. It doesn’t take much, does it. For every inch of Loki’s skin that meets the charged air of the small cabin, thick with Thor’s energy and now a more animalistic scent, Thor’s hunger and fury seems to gather a pound of urgency. He holds Loki's ass in his strong hands just as Loki was going to climb him. Loki’s back meets the wall, his _humph_ swallowed by his brother’s kiss. One last rip, and flesh meets flesh. If only his mouth wasn’t right now the land the warrior king of Asgard is intent on plundering and ravaging, Loki might crack a joke about hammers and how Hela clearly missed one. But his brother is not in the mood for jokes, intent on a single, very pointed, very pushing purpose. This time, as so many others before, Loki’s seidr is put to a use the Ancients probably never intended. (Or who knows, Loki did never get to examine all that was held in the restricted section of the Library, but he saw enough to know it was not all about black magic and the true, bloody past of Asgard.)

Thor thrusts in like the brute he can be, but Loki yields like his body was made for it. At this moment, they truly are one species, coming together like beasts do, effortlessly, moulded by nature for this one purpose.

“Ah,” is all Loki allows himself for now, a short gasp, crushed between the wall and his brother. 

Thor pants heavily against his neck, but he’s still. Loki’s impaled, stretched and full, nails deep in his brother’s shoulders, shivering, bracing for what comes next. Only it’s not.

“Brother,” he whispers, choosing that word with filthy intent, “either you start moving, or you let _me_ move.”

Thor chuckles darkly and breathily against his neck. 

There is a bed in the king’s cabin, or what in this ship passes for one. It’s tough and humble, utilitarian, and they will need to see to that soon —idle thoughts that cross Loki’s mind as he’s being laid on it, his brother’s full weight upon him, his brother’s cock pressing deep. The first shift of Thor’s hips makes Loki drop his jaw. As it picks up, he must arch his neck, his back. There’s the scent of ozone in the air, and should there be an atmosphere to stir, clouds would be mounting up outside, and the air would hang low with the smell of rain. And none of that is new. But as Thor’s desire builds up, and he truly begins to chase what he needs inside Loki’s body, the gloom in the cabin acquires a blue tinge that’s pure seidr. Among his own soft huffs and breaths, Loki watches, fascinated. 

The first spark takes them both by surprise, and startles them. It snapped between their lips, which now feel tingly beneath a weird numbness. It only slows his brother down for a second. The next thrust comes harder, as if energised. 

His brother’s one eye is fixed on Loki’s eyes as he fucks, commanding his brother’s entire attention. Every sliver of metal in the cabin is now covered in that ghostly blue glow. After a specially powerful thrust, electricity breaks and sparkles. Loki smirks, his body singing. He always did have a thing for Thor’s brawn and might, but oh, this new development has him pushing his knees up, that he can surround his brother with his legs even tighter. Because Thor is the powerful god of Thunder, and he belongs to _him_. Loki’s seidr comes to the surface and ripples there, just beneath his skin. Thor could always waken it and make it dance and sing. 

Spurred on by Loki’s urgency and possessiveness, Thor finally starts to fuck his brother like he means it.

The next spark is not on the surface. It snaps deep within, a whole new world of sensation. It shakes Loki’s entire body, and draws a helpless whimper from his lips. What the fuck just happened. The feral grin on Thor’s face is made even more terrifying and exciting with the bright blue glow of his one eye. He’s covered in electricity, zapping and whipping all over his skin. _All_ _over_ his skin.

“Norns…” whimpers Loki, a strangled sound.

And Thor pushes his brother's knees up, and buries himself deep, and fucks him like the literal unbound force of nature that he is. Loki's moans are surely carrying through the ship now, his whole body tingling, and every now and then he shudders when a small, exquisite bolt of lightning breaks in a part of himself which he could have sworn before today it would not be not a good idea for electricity to hit.

It’s how he comes, riding one of those bolts, moans broken by plaintive sobs, claws deep in Thor's ass, chanting his brother’s name with a rag of a voice.

 

They hold each other in silence as their breathing quiets down.

 

The full weight of his brother’s body makes one wonder whether he too was forged in the heart of a dying star. Indeed, he’s still a lazy, clingy sop who never knows when it’s enough. It’s time now for Loki to demand to be set free. 

But he doesn't. At some point in the last few minutes, Thor’s fingers have threaded with his brother's beside their heads, and now Loki's watching fascinated their hands together, surely half high still from the intensity of their fuck. His brother’s breath is scalding hot against his neck. Every now and again, there is a spark. His brother is still hard, and still inside him. Loki isn’t going anywhere anytime soon, nor does he want to.

Thor turns his head. Loki thinks he’s going to pull out and retreat now, but he doesn’t. Thor too looks at their hands, tightly woven. His other arm is still around Loki’s back, just as Loki’s other arm is still around his brother’s neck. Thor’s head is a hard, crushing weight on Loki’s chest. Loki hates a cage, hates a chain, hates being tied down, but Thor was always his exception to everything. He’s really very pleased surrendering his will and calling his current position inevitable.

Thor pulls their hands apart, but doesn’t take it back. His palm hovers over Loki’s. Suddenly, a spark. Again that tingle, that delicious, ticklish numbness in its wake. Thor’s hand hovers now tracing Loki’s arm. Every now and then, a sparkle. 

Thor raises his head, and looks at him. He has a mischievous grin on his face. So does Loki. Thor props himself up on one elbow, and his hand hovers over Loki’s chest. The sparkle on his nipple makes Loki jump and hiss, and it makes Thor smile broadly. They look at each other, and they know they’re both thinking the same thing. It’s all the permission Thor needs to slip his hand between them both, and close it around Loki’s cock, which is stirring again. Thor begins to move his hips with lazy, deliberate abandon, always generous, always willing to wait for his bedmates of inferior stamina to catch up with him in their own time. The first sparkle directly to his cock has Loki whining with very little dignity. He throws his arms over his face in surrender. His body pinned down, his will Thor’s slave. Resistance is futile, who the hell needs pride.

Thor’s hand hovers over his brother's cock, now fully hard and straining, and when it suits Thor, he discharges a small blue bolt. 

“Ah…” whimpers Loki, shaking. “Norns…”

Thor’s mouth closes on his nipple. There’s a slip of tongue. And then.

“Fuck!” Loki shakes up. 

He opens his eyes to see small runes of lightning dancing on his brother’s tongue, obscenely displayed for his benefit. His brother is beautiful, and playful, and mischievous, and _his_.

Loki throws his head back again and gives in entirely. He might just fucking die today in this bed, and that’s just fine with him.

 

 

They’re hugging. On their sides, face to face, on the hard cot which Loki will have changed and made decent for the King of Asgard as soon as he gets out of the cabin. The throne might have gone up in flames, but the dignity of the crown must be maintained, now more than ever. Surely Thor won't oppose to having this place spruced up a bit. It's not just the depressing dearth of gold, it's also the nornsdamned mattress. If Loki is to be fucked on this bed with any sort of regularity, feathers and soft, clean wool will have to be found somewhere. Perhaps the time is passed for the lavish displays of the Asgardian court, but by the gods, can't they have some basic cushioning.

(...If Loki is to be fucked on this bed again. Here's a question. But a question for another day.)

Thor’s face is buried in his brother’s chest, arms and legs surrounding him. It's awfully uncomfortable, and Loki's limbs are beginning to show signs of numbness. And yet he won't move, or ask Thor to move.

They haven't said a word since Thor moaned his brother's name into a kiss as he came, Loki fucking crying, no less, as his brother's electricity drew yet another climax when there should have been none left to call on so soon.

Loki's spent, his body, and not only just. _I thought the world of_ _you_ , his brother's words return _._   _It's better if we never see each other again,_ Loki had said, and the words had slipped off Thor's back as if he had come to the same conclusion such a long time ago, it didn't even register. The gust of cold between them at that moment had felt like a blade of ice cutting Loki down in two.

But it wasn't that. And now Loki knows what it was. Like a broken bone that wasn't mended properly, and had Loki shuffling on a limp, Loki carried his wrongs, his heartache. Thor's show of indifference had been a hammer strike to break Loki down, and the chance was there to heal again, heal differently. Time would tell if that was possible, or even desirable. As of now, although properly aligned, everything was tender. Properly doesn't mean right. Can one truly ever recover from what they have been through.

Well, Loki certainly isn't hurting now, though he suspects the limp won't be metaphorical when he does walk out of Thor's cabin. Not that he's complaining. And it's not like he intends on leaving the cabin any time soon either. He's simply so, so tired. Running, fighting, hating for years and years and years. He would stop for a breath here, where it's safe and warm, if that's alright.

He strokes the short bristles of his brother’s hair, traces the scalp where the clumsy moron who chopped off those golden curls almost drew blood in his carelessness and haste.

Their breathing has fallen into step. Loki's mind is blissfully empty, peaceful, fucked out. He thinks Thor is asleep. 

“Are you staying?” asks Thor then, nothing but a mumble, assembled and pushed forth with a lot of courage and effort.

“As of now I can’t go very far, can I?” says Loki lightly, surrounded and weighed down by strong, heavy limbs, and his brother’s will, and Loki’s own desire.

Thor pulls back to look at him. For the first time, Loki sees the fear there, the exhaustion, the confusion, the loneliness, the grief, and the silent call. _Help me._

Loki strokes again Thor’s short hair, pushes his face close against his chest, and smirks, as he lets his eyes close. He too is beyond exhausted and could sleep for a whole week. In fact, he intends to.

“Like I said,” he purrs, “there’s nowhere for me to go.”

“That’s not what you said.”

Loki chuckles quietly.

“Sleep, brother,” he whispers.

Those mighty arms clamp down around Loki’s body, that heavy leg pulls him even closer. 

Loki hates a cage, he hates chains, and in fairness, he should hate this. But if Thor’s virtue is his steadfast will, Loki’s is his comfort in chaos and contradiction. They compliment each other. They once made a great team. 

There’s nowhere else for Loki to go, because this is his place, his by right. So long as Thor remembers that, Loki will stay. Possibly. Maybe.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> i'll read this in a couple of days and cringe so bad. I probably made up several english words since i didn't run past this my wonderful beta. WHO THE HELL CARES RIGHT!?
> 
> (I will, a lot, in a few days. But in the meantime)


End file.
